And Then You Laughed
by callthemoonbeam
Summary: Sister Evangelina assumes Shelagh and Patrick are rushing into things, and Patrick tries to prove otherwise. Ft. childish humor and partially inspired by Linda Belcher.


"Thank you so much for your help," Jane said quietly, following Shelagh down the hall.

Shelagh was about to reply, but as they approached Sister Julienne's office she stopped short. They could hear Sister Evangelina on the other side of the door.

"I mean! Leaving the Order I had just about accepted, but jumping straight into marriage with the local widower, and our doctor to boot–how will she know if it's the right thing if she's barely been out of the habit a week?"

"Shelagh, what are you–"

Patrick had swept around the corner in his usual rush, medical bag in hand, and was surprised to see his bride-to-be standing red-faced in the hallway.

"Shelagh came by with some donations for the winter festival," Jane told Patrick, though her gaze was on Shelagh, who looked somehow both utterly composed and on the verge of tears.

"With respect, Sister, it's too soon! They've barely known each other's names a minute, they've never even farted in front of one another–what can she know of marriage?"

"That's enough." Sister Julienne brought Evangelina's tirade to a halt. Whatever was to follow, Shelagh never found out, as Patrick took her by the arm and escorted her out to the MG.

They sat for a beat in silence, listening to the screeching and hollering of children in the street below.

"Are you alright?" Patrick ventured, wanting to reassure her but meanwhile conscious that Shelagh's silence might be an affirmation of the Sister's beliefs: maybe she thought he'd rushed into this, too. Maybe she thought it was a mistake.

"Oh," Shelagh turned to him, eyes brimming with concern. "Patrick, I don't know." She bit her lip. "You–you've been married before."

"Yes, love."

"Do you think–do you feel you know me, well enough? I feel," she spoke quickly, her breath hitched, "sure I want to marry you, but maybe I am naive, maybe you think–"

"Shelagh, I've never been more certain of anything. Sister Evangelina might not understand that, but I do." He broke their gaze to look down at her hands in his. "If you're having doubts, that's something we can address, but I have none."

Shelagh sighed, smiling. "Nor do I."

He beamed. "And Sister Evangelina is wrong about one thing–you have farted in front of me."

At that, Shelagh's faced turned the color of her maroon jumper. "What?"

Patrick started to giggle. "I feel horrible even mentioning this–it was back when you were Sister Bernadette."

"Patrick!" Shelagh wasn't sure what to do with herself. "When? Oh, if I'd known–"

"No, it was infinitely endearing," Patrick took her hand again, face sobering slightly. "After Nurse Noakes cooked luncheon one day, I believe, everyone was slightly… dyspeptic."

"Yes, well," said Shelagh. Chummy's cooking had a reputation that preceded even her stature.

"I had known to refuse Sister Julienne's offer to join you all, but came afterward to fetch some things from the clinical room, where I found you, sorting rectal tubes and holding your stomach."

Shelagh put her head in her hands, unable to look him in the face. "I do remember that luncheon."

"I–" The picture hit him, and Patrick burst out laughing. "I was about to approach you, when you let out," he chuckled, "the loudest fart I'd heard from anyone beyond Sister Evangelina."

Shelagh moaned in embarrassment through a small snicker at the thought of Sister Evangelina and her love of toilet humor. "This is mortifying, Patrick!"

"No, darling, I promise it ends well." He laid a hand on her arm, as they both shook in fits of giggles.

"Go on, then," Shelagh smiled, cheeks red. Patrick's laugh was infectious.

He snorted, barely managing to wheeze out the next part of his sentence. "You seemed absolutely surprised, and looked around to see nobody was there. And then you laughed! Just threw your head back and laughed, opened a window, and went on with your business."

He wiped away tears from the corners of his eyes. "If I wasn't aware I loved you yet, you can be sure I did after that."

"Why didn't you say something?" Shelagh asked, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

"I didn't want to embarrass you, and the things I would have wanted to say to put you at ease wouldn't have been proper, then. I just snuck back down the hallway to make myself a cup of tea, and by the time I returned you'd gone." He sighed the kind of sigh one does after laughing up all one's laughter. "So that's all to say, Sister Evangelina was sorely misinformed. And you need not worry about being embarrassed about anything in front of me."

"I suppose not," Shelagh smiled.

Patrick turned the key in the ignition, slinging an arm over Shelagh's seat to reverse out of the driveway. "Can I entice you to some supper?"

"Well, after that story…" Shelagh pulled a face. "Yes. It'll give me a chance to unearth some embarrassing stories of yours for a change."

Patrick gasped in mock-horror. "Miss Mannion, I never–"

"Oh, I'm sure Timothy will provide me with some ammunition," she winked, eyes alight with mischief.


End file.
